


Ink on Satin Handkerchiefs

by MadAce



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dream is a bit crazy in the second chapter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Freeform, Ghost Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Jschlatt-centric (Video Blogging RPF), OOC?, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Omniscient, Parent Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, just playing around with the fanon of their relationship, mmmm Glatt, please help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:20:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29223858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadAce/pseuds/MadAce
Summary: With a tilt of his head and squinted eyes, Tubbo spotted a shade of shifting blue passed the muted green foliage. With poorly concealed revelation, a familiar face made its way into his view. Heavy ram horns framed a familar face, the typically proud features were now masked in uncertainty. Those flickering pools of whiskey eyes finally met his, grief and confusion turning to pure glee.-Chp 1: Exploring the Dadschlatt AU + Jschlatt and Tubbo's every changing relationship, starting from Tubbo's birth.Chp 2: Struggles as Glatt and some protective dad power
Relationships: Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 159





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My heart was ripped out at the concept of the dadschlatt au sooo here is just my small take on everything, starting from Tubbo's birth all the way to the whole Glatt phase. I switch between Tubbo's and Jschlatt's thoughts a bit and jump between events to keep the story moving along. A lot of Jschlatt's past (or at least my take on it) is just kind of implied. I hope you enjoy!

Money trickled through Schlatt’s clawed fingertips and into his hefty pockets on the daily. Dim lights hid checks carefully signed in scrawling onyx ink. Digital screens drew patterns into dark oak tabletops, monitoring the stocks of his carefully balanced SchlattCoin. Pearlescent porcelain buttons held together silk tuxedo panels, the deep ebony hiding any splotches of saturated crimson that stained the expensive suit during unintentional scuffles. Schlatt ruled with a heavy hand, blood drenched palms wiped away with satin handkerchief. He secluded himself in dark offices and wound tightly around city corners, feverish claws extending his grasp in the underworld of the business industry and stock market.

A meticulous _tik, tik, tik_ whispered songs of grief in his eardrums as he counted every second of his life. It was a dangerous job, what do you expect?

He had no death wish, per say, but simply lacked the care in regards to how he was perceived. If he was the villain in other people’s story, so be it.

Schlatt’s talons found themselves shaven down when a baby, barely a few days old, was thrust into his hands. The mother was a pitiful fool and a quick fuck months ago, her body disposed of at his beck and call as he stared down at the young child in his arms. Bleary eyes blinked open and mirrored the golden pools that gazed down upon him, and a small laugh, as clear as a silver bell, left the parted and toothless mouth. A featherlight grin met the lips of the Ram-Hybrid and the grim and black chiffon veil was lifted; he found himself taking steady steps out of the cape of gore and underground deals that wracked his daily life.

Schlatt nestled himself into a comfortable loft, young Toby in a sturdy cradle and business deals a phone call away rather than at his doorstep.

Schlatt finally felt content.

The winding clock that ticked in his ear had started to dull.

Away were the days of stubborn parents and punishment that wracked his own childhood. Away were the days of being held at gunpoint as he persuaded pigs to invest in his stocks. Away were the days of dilated pupils and blood drenched dollar bills. Away were the days when he used to scatter nails in his path, setting up an iron wall of defenses that kept competitors on their toes and yards from his expensive silk suits. No one would touch him if shrapnel met bare feet within inches of himself. No one close meant no immediate danger. But, with shifting tides, Schlatt felt himself gathering the meticulously placed tacks, filling up calloused hands and tucking them in stained handkerchiefs to slip away and never see again.

He had realized that a guarded front would never protect him; Petal tops would always fall lightly on upturned nails, anyway.

The adrenaline that pulsed behind thick skin when bargaining with untrustworthy partners was nothing when compared to the joy thrumming in his chest and soft coos that left his throat when watching his young boy grow. He refused to let a single hair get mused from the harsh world that lie outside his apartment’s doors, rough fingertips tucking delicate limbs under mounds of plush wool blankets, gently embroidered in the buzzing bees that his dear son was so enamored with.

His life went from holding men at gunpoint to cleaning up juice spills. He didn’t mind. After all, children are clumsy and his son deserved the world.

Schlatt spoiled the young boy as best he could, and in all honestly, he was still surprised that little Toby was humble enough for the both of them. Nothing but pure joy coated his son’s features like a thick molasses, ever present, immovable, and unimaginably sweet. He would climb mountains and burn his company down at the cusp of the hilltops if it meant that his son would bestow a dazzling smile and clap together his two chubby hands. So, of course when the young boy begged to go the the forest, claiming they could search for flower fields and frolic with the bees in his toddler babble, Schlatt couldn’t help himself but agree.

Schlatt pulled a thick, green knitted sweater over ruffled brunette locks and ushered the boy into open arms, making way down the stairs and heading to the great forests and adventure that awaited the pair. 

Large pine trees stood gallantly before the ram pair, dense branches creating a comforting canopy and urging them to fall within nature’s ever-loving and everlasting grasp. Fur covered ears twinged in sunlight twitched to the sound of chirping birds and dancing leaves. Hooves wove their way around thick undergrowth and Toby giggled, motioning to the streams of light that passed through towering branches. As the ram child continued his curious prattles, Schlatt grew silent, slit pupils bouncing around them and ears trained to the subtle creaking that followed them.His pace kicked up, forcing outward muses to guise the toddler, as the surroundings started to blur around him. He felt empty prayers tumble past numb lips, begging to whatever God above to delay the creeping assassin.

He was foolish to think no one would try to take him out while he was distracted with his son. When had he lost his edge? He should have never let something like this happen.

Golden eyes flickered to parted tree branches, dazzling sunlight contrasting greatly to the heavy thudding in his chest and the strangling air he was choking back. Hooves met roadside and he let out an exasperated breath as he gently placed Toby in a nearby cardboard box, far enough from the pavment and obscure enough to keep him hidden while Schlatt took care of business.

Hushed whispers soothed Toby’s questioning, the bumblebee plush he was holding was only grasped tighter in trembling and uncoordinated toddler hands. Schlatt took care to tuck up the sides of the box and brush away any residual leaves.

“Stay here, Bumblebee, ok? I promise we will pick so many flowers and you will play with all the bees we can find. I’ll be right back.” Quirked eyebrows were barely soothed as Schlatt huffed out the soft whispers, quickly turning tail and rushing back into the forest, leaving the young boy to silence his own shaking breath and blink away teary eyes.

The gentle air grew deathly quiet before quickly collapsing upon itself upon the chilling echo of a gunshot. The dense bone of a Grim Reaper’s fingertips waltzed upon the treetops, purring and jittering at the forlorn thought of a new soul. The shifting of Death’s eternal cloak was barely herd among the terrified squawks of pheasants and the flapping wings of intrigued ravens. The onyx fabric made its presence known as it upturned in merciful winds and allowed for the deep black to begin coating the awaiting sky.

A teary pout slowly became slack upon chubby cheeks as hours came and went and the air grew bleak and crisp with the departure of the sun.

The wide expanses of the night sky were eventually obscured by golden locks and curious eyes. A shriek of joy left opposing lips followed by a distant “Tommy! Be careful!”

Toby could only look up in curiosity, cheeks stained with tears and green sweater feeling thin when compared to the brutish night chill.

Not before long, pink, brunette, and another set of blonde tresses peaked over the cardboard crease, a mixture of emotions washing over solemn faces. Large hands, colder than his own father’s, lifted him up, a welcoming smile dawning on pale features as he murmured hushed introductions to the shuddering ram child.

_Phil.. Techno.. Wilbur.. and little Tommy..._

Hesitant tears left wide eyes as Toby babbled on about his father, calling in despair under the dim moonlight. Guilt washed over the older man’s face and he rallied his sons with him, begging the other boys to treat the new addition to the family with kindness.

—

Schlatt pressed a shuddering hand to the open wound on his leg, scarlet seeped through fingers and stained the grass that sheltered beneath him. He glanced over at the still body splayed out next to him, head tilted at an odd angle and eyes half lidded and sunken. The Ram Hybrid cursed under his breath as he watched the sun depart.

He has been sitting here for too long... doing nothing wouldn’t stop the blood from flowing.

Schlatt leaned over with a wince, tearing a shred of fabric from the opposing body and tying it in a vise onto his leg, gagging at the pain and the violent squelch the wound released. Hands curled around rough tree bark as he slowly lifted himself up and hobbled to the roadside, breath catching in his throat and nostrils flaring at the occasional white flashes of pain that grasped his body.

“Please be ok, Toby...” a soft mantra played in his empty head as he begged with the universe that his son was safe in the box he left him in.

Static started to pinch at his vision, but he grit his teeth as the item of his obsession came into view, making way to it before glaring down into an empty box.

He felt a part of himself shatter.

“Toby! Toby! Where are you!” Schlatt called frantically into the nipping air, the caws of the ravens sounded like the mocking laugh of fate as he wildly searched the surroundings. His throat constricted and static created a harsh vignette behind his eyes. The Ram-Hybrid felt his legs give out from underneath him, ignoring the sickening crack of his knee on harsh pavement and sobbed into open palms.

He cursed the heavens this very night.

_There was no God._

—

Schlatt abandoned his apartment, burned it down save for a few pictures and the woven bee blanket which he kept locked away. He returned to the dark recesses of his offices and near the work he has drowned himself in years prior. SchlattCoin continued to boom and Schlatt ran his employees dry. He sent them far and wide to find any traces of his son, head swirling in despair at the passing thought that he might be lost to him forever. Whiskey now occupied the arms that used to cradle his dear son, warmed his throat to make up for the aches in his shivering heart.

“We haven’t been able to find any other leads, Boss. We fear that the worst may have happened.”

Schlatt’s back faced the doorway where one of his cowering employees stood, feet shuffling and shoulders hunched as he awaited the harsh judgement of his boss. A strong hand clutched at a frosted crystal cup, drops of residual red rum pooled at the well in the bottom. He could feel the crystal creak and a bitter chuckle shook broad shoulders.

“What did you say to me? You know what- save it. Leave me before I do something I regret.” With the harsh demand, the employee quickly scurried away, tail tucked between trembling legs.

His tie felt suffocating. Everything was too _tight._

His arm recoiled and he slammed the expensive glassware into his dark tiled floor, watching the clear particles shatter and dust the ground, ignoring any that happened to tear and imbed themselves into his slacks. Frustrated hands tore off his tie and clawed fingernails braided into his hair, grasping desperately at his skull and digging deep enough for the flooding of the liquid ambrosia of his blood to trickle down his despairing face. 

—

Toby was content.

Memories of his father were far behind him, the comforting smile that used to to play in his dreams was starting to fade.

Phil, Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy were chaotic, but it was the only home he knew and the only home he could possibly love. His days were full of warmth and excitement, praised for his calm nature around his high energy counterpart, Tommy, and filled to the brim with adventure each day. Any curiosities and doubts he felt, were quickly pushed down.

He made a habit of jotting his feelings down onto little pieces of paper, folding them and pressing them into the ripped seams and stuffings of the bee plushie he has had for ages now. The old thing was turning mustard yellow in areas he was certain used to be buttercup, and the fabric was wearing thin and matted. The attachment he felt to the ratty thing was not one he would part with easily. It was too fragile to sleep with, so using it as a keepsake was a must. He folded his most recent thought carefully, after musing about it for days now.

This was the one he would have to share with his family.

With turmoil on his mind, Toby carefully approached his foster father.

“Can I... can I be called Tubbo?” His nimble fingers twisted together and he looked down at his feet, flustered at his own proposition. _Tubbo- an odd nickname which only came about when Tommy slurred his name during days of too much childhood play and sleep deprivation._

“Pardon? Oh.. I suppose if you prefer. Any reason why?” Phil glanced up from a novel in his lap, flicking in closed to focus his attention on the distant boy.

“I just... I don’t feel a connection to my old life. I don’t know why I was put in that box and I would rather forget it.”

Phil let out a puff of a breath and smiled, giving a small nod before standing up from his seat.

“Let’s go introduce the new you to your brothers, hmm?”

—

Schlatt kept his business afloat for several more years, sitting on piles of money he ran through the system to keep clean and invest. He spent days, months mourning over the loss of his son, drowning in whiskey and rum and barely leaving the dim seclusion of his office. Once he managed to escape the tendrils of alcoholism that seemed to beg for his prolonged stay, he drove himself into work. He barely slept and his stocks boomed as a result of his incessant efforts.

He peered into a golden framed mirror, the poor lighting deepening the dark bags under his eyes. A hand ran through his 5’o clock shadow and a pondering sigh left heavy lips.

It was probably best to take a break.

Schlatt unrolled a large map and pinned it to the wall, lifting a knife that was gently resting in his drawer. He walked ten paces away from the opposing paper, turned abruptly, and threw.

Once a satisfied _thunk_ resonated in the hard wood of the wall, the Ram-Hybrid carefully opened his eyes. Flaxen pools of liquor read the map as he leaned forward the remove the sharp blade from between the planks.

“L’manberg? That could work, I suppose...”

He tied up loose knots, and left for the country by the weekend.

—

Tubbo’s life has turned into a downward tailspin. It seemed like the country has been on the brink of war for years, when it really has only been mear days. He felt tired, mentally beaten, but forced his smiles and hushed words of comfort, hiding away his tone of uncertainty. He was pushed aside by the brunt and overpowering nature of Wilbur and Tommy, whom seemed to crave the power more so than they let on. Techno’s well spoken taunts and brittle posture was nowhere to be found in these dizzying days.

The elections were drawing near and no one expected a new comer to join the excitement.

 _Schlatt_ , he bellowed his name in pride as he took his place on the podium during final speeches. He was hard headed and haughty, an unmovable object as a ram should be. His expensive suit and polished horns were a deep contrast to the blown out hair and mutton chops that framed an angular face. In all honesty, Tubbo was admiring the man from afar, behind his initial feeling of fear.

He was _everything_ Tubbo _wasn’t_.

The silent boy felt his mouth fall agape as Wilbur grit out the results of the election, pronouncing Schlatt as the new heir and president of L’manberg. He was shocked. _Or, at least he should have been_ , he thinks. Wilbur and Tommy drilled into his mind that they were the rightful leaders of the country. With the new overbearing presence of the Ram, Tubbo couldn't help but question their ideology.

“Tubbo! Join me up here.”

Tubbo sucked in his cheeks and glanced at the podium wide eyed. Schlatt had a dazzling smile painted on his face, a hand outreached and motioning for the young boy, who took tentative steps forward. He could feel the tensions of the crowd behind him, but he swallowed it down and accepted the position that now lie before him on a silver platter.

—

Tubbo was a good kid.

He caught Schlatt’s eye on his entrance to L’manberg, bright eyes hidden behind carefully toned words, often ushered behind the spotlight to make way for Wilbur and Tommy, his apparent ‘brothers’. There was a guilty tug of hope in Schlatt’s heart as golden eyes fell upon fluffy ram ears and short horn stubs that poked out from barricades of brunette fluff, but he pushed that feeling away. He had a family for _God’s_ _sake_ , he had a _father_ that wasn’t him.

Yet, he couldn’t help calling him up to the podium when election results rolled around. He wanted to keep him close and he could tell this kid could go far if given the time.

And with that, work began.

Schlatt captained a tight ship, he could admit that. Years of cultivating a business out of nothing, dodging law enforcement, and sitting on stacks of cash can do that to someone. Piles of paper filed in and out of his office quickly, his words were constantly clipped, and posture strict when handling his underlings. He couldn’t really blame the way his employees scurried around him, twinges of guilt aching his heart, but he could do little to ale the fear they started to feel. He could tell that they were starting to turn on him and it left him feeling bitter.

L’manberg was a mess and they were going to convince themselves it was his doing. He had always been the villain, anyway, he supposed. 

A sigh pressed through gritted teeth, narrowed eyes scanned neatly printed ink, an elaborate decree that he couldn’t care to read in full. He dipped his calligraphy pen in its ink pot and signed the paper swiftly. A soft knock on the thick oak door interrupted his internal musing as he set the work aside.

“Come in.” Schlatt didn't look up from his desk, shuffling ivory papers until he heard hesitant foot steps pass the threshold.

“H-hi Schlatt. I’m really sorry to bother but..” Tubbo shuffled his feet, a file trembling between two unsteady hands and soft ears pressed flush against his head in embarrassment. Schlatt felt a pang and set down his pen, turning his full attention to the caramel haired lamb before him and shifted his eyebrows upwards in a poor attempt to soften his features.

“Nothing to be sorry about. What can I do for you?” Schlatt tried his best to pitch a subdued smile, using a gesture of the hand to urge the boy forward. Tubbo’s eyes blinked owlishly, revealing the papers that were clutched in his hands.

“I’m not really sure what this decree is asking. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this job...”

“Nonsense! You are doing fine, better than Quackity could do for me. I couldn’t have picked anyone better as Secretary of State,” the Ram-Hybrid took the papers tentatively and flicked through them. “Plus, I can’t even count how many of these stupid papers are full of mumbo jumbo and vocabulary fluff.”

He paused for a moment, eyes running down the lengthy paragraphs. “Mm... this is just discussing foreign affairs with a nearby nation. Nothing to worry about, I’ve already had a few meetings with their foreign policy advisors. Just sign on the line and you are good to go.”

Tubbo nodded furiously, caramel curls bouncing around his face and around pliable features. It was so _so_ familiar.

Schlatt tipped his calligraphy pen forward, offering it to the shy teenager who grasped it bashfully. He leaned over the cherry wood desk attempting to reach for the ink pot.

Gently.. carefully... and...

With a clink the small glass jar tipped. Midnight black splashed from crystal lip and ran patterns down the wood grain. A sharp intake of breath was heard in the cold silence that overtook the room.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry-“ Tubbo’s panicked words were breathy and tears started to well in his eyes, which jumped quickly around the room in an attempt to avoid Schlatt’s slit pupils.

The president only raised a limp hand, halting his frets.

“No worries. It happens. I have multiple copies of this paperwork.” The Ram-Hybrid offered a smile and fished out his pocket square, running the crimson fabric along the blackened wood grain.

“People are clumsy and that makes us human. There is no need to be so intense around me, ey?” Schlatt folded his stained handkerchief and set it aside. He lifted up the calligraphy pen, dipping it in the small pool of remaining ink, unable to be picked up by the handkerchief, and once more granted it to the wide eyed boy.

—

Tubbo’s shuttering fingers gripped onto his heart, wrinkling his pristine white dress shirt in the process. The pounding of the organ grounded him, yet felt so surreal at the same time.

His heavy breath echoed in the damp air of underground chambers, the sound of dripping water was deafened by the clacking of quick hooves.

Up ahead, just a few paces more, awaited Tommy and Wilbur.

He _had_ to do this.

People were scared of him. Any admiration he had for Schlatt was nothing in comparison to the grand scheme of things. L’manberg.. or rather Manberg, would come crashing down with or without Tubbo.

Close behind, golden eyes shut closed in frustration, nose wrinkling and lips curling in disdain. The President could feel a scoff vibrate in his throat as he turned from the scene.

He treated this boy like a _son_. And he has the audacity to betray him? This foolish boy would never be able to replace the bundle of joy that he nursed years ago, and he was too stupid to realize it until it was too late.

Tubbo would rightfully pay.

—

“Schlatt! What are you doing?” Tubbo struggled against calloused hands which shoved him behind the mic stand.

“Tubbo, Tubbo... I know what you’ve been up to.” He barked out his words harshly, motioning to Quackity to enclose him. Schlatt let out a satisfied huff, a snarky and mirthless smirk contorting his tired features.

The young brunette looked terrified, the yellow structure that held him tight made him appear childlike. Schlatt swallowed back bile at remembering the bumblebees that used to dance upon his dreams.

“You’ve been conspiring! With the idiots.. with the tyrants! Tubbo, I don’t know if you know this, but treason isn’t exactly a respectable thing around here.” The sarcasm felt heavy upon his lips, coating his tongue as he felt creases line his nose in a sneer, eyes narrowing at the cowering boy.

He is a _Ram-Hybrid_? Cowering like this? _Ridiculous._

Schlatt turned towards the crowd, wide arm spanning in flare as he beckoned Techno forward. Tubbo’s stuttering protests fell upon deaf ears as slit pupils watched fireworks slip into bow slots. The pig started to aim and-

“Toby!”

The shriek was shrill among the screams of the crowd. Schlatt’s head snapped towards the roof of a towering building, dagger eyes meeting the cerulean pools of Tommy's.

His mouth felt dry.

He quickly turned back to the boy in the box. The mouth that was originally pinched back in disdain, awaiting the execution of this traitorous boy, fell open. Eyebrows curved and eyelashes fluttered at the emergence of tears.

“Toby?” The faint whisper was muted as color flooded Schlatt’s vision, followed by the deafening sound of fireworks and his son’s heart wrenching howl of pain.

The president felt unsteady on his legs, a tense hand raising itself to grasp at his face, claws digging into his skin which was now sullied with blood that wasn’t his own.

He lost his son.

Again.

And it was his fault.

_Again._

—

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Toby- rather Tubbo as he seems to prefer- ran into the open arms of the enemy.

 _History does repeat itself_ , he supposed, as he tipped back another whiskey and felt the heavy liquor wash away his tears.

He was stupid. So _so_ fucking stupid.

This was supposed to be a vacation. Why in the hell did he think it was worth the effort to run for their election? For what? A few weeks of laughter before departing the sorry excuse of a country? And here he was, the son he begged the heaven’s for, finally at his grasp, and then turned away in an instant.

Schlatt growled under his breath, throwing another glass bottle into the garbage, satisfied at the solid sound of shattering. Eager fingers tore at wind swept hair, running desperately and without ease. His elbows hit the desk as he leaned forward, clutching desperately to his head for some internal relief, some euphoric change of mind that would lead him through these tough times.

A knock on the door awoke him from his turmoil, looking up through heavy eyelashes and tousled stands of hair at the intruder.

“What the hell are you doing, Schlatt?” Quackity stepped forward hesitantly, taking in the pitiful view of a leader drinking himself to death.

“Leave me.” The Ram’s eyes trailed from the opposing figure and found patterns in the black ink that managed to dry in the ceases of the desk.

“Leave you? Are you shitting me? Like this-“

“Leave me or you’ll be next on that podium!” Schlatt’s hands slammed down onto the cherry wood, standing to tower over the man across the desk. His voice bellowed in exhaustion and frustration, eyes enflamed. The ache in his palms slowly caught up to him as Quackity squeaked and turned abruptly, leaving the lonesome president in silence once more.

What is he going to fucking do?

—

Tubbo swallowed thickly, eyes jumping between Dream and Wilbur as they lead the group to the long abandoned van, rightfully only kept up for historical sake. His fingers ran down the grip of his sword, listening carefully as Dream mumbled about the idiocy of the falling president.

Even though his last encounter with Schlatt had been a bitter one, scars smattering the left side of his face to prove it, he couldn’t help the pity that lie heavy in his gut.

The scene that awaited them behind creaky van doors was horrifying, to say the least. The ‘villain’ in question was on the ground, crumbled and trembling. Glass bottles littered the floor and the stench of alcohol was strangling.

Molten eyes were frosted over, dazed and dusty. Unfocused irises slotted around the surroundings, slack features becoming pinched in slow realization. Those eyes that used to hold nothing but pride fell upon a weak lamb of a boy, broken and tired.

His boy stood before him, sword in hand and determined.

Was he the one holding him back all this time? Or had he fallen back into the same pattern of “follow the lead”, egged on with empty promises tethered on a stick?

His mind was slurring his thoughts before words even reached his lips.

Schlatt let out a grim chuckle, eyes trained on his little Bumblebee, before coughs started to wrack his body. He grasped at his chest, tearing desperately at the fabric, wanting to dig deeper into his skin to pull the wretched organ that was pounding away to his demise.

Was this his end?

What had he done to deserve it all?

—

Quick breaths left cold lips, gently moistened by occasional tears, as Tubbo slipped between the many corridors of The White House. Far behind him lie the body of the past President, body long cold and alone. It was a horrifying way to watch someone die; sputtering panic hid behind clouded eyes, sneers guiding last minute insults, before eventually his body gave out on him, shrouded in a coffin of liquor and hateful gazes.

He was quick to leave the scene after being declared the new president, advised to clean out Schlatt’s old office and set it aflame. It was a part of History that _they_ didn’t want remembered.

He still wasn’t too certain how he got to this point. He was no Wilbur, he was no Tommy, and he was _definitely_ no Schlatt. Tubbo knows he doesn’t have the largest weaponry nor battalion, he received little respect and the biggest issue lies in his lack of care to fix it.

His hooves clacked to a halt in front of large oak doors, running a hand down polished panels before gliding down to the silver door handle. He pulled the door open with a soft creak, wrinkling his nose at the unsightly mess. Schlatt was never this disorganized.. _what happened while he left_?

Trembling hand tightened into fists, knuckles running paler than the crumpled sheets of unsigned declarations that towered on the desk. Bleary eyes gazed around the dim room, only lit up by the streams of light that managed to peak past heavy burgundy curtains. Dust danced as Tubbo made his way through the paperwork, the only chorus they waltzed for was the sound of a creaking desk, halted breaths, and crinkling papers. Soft fingertips found the smooth silver knob of the cherry wood, pulling it open. With a short gasp, his wandering mind was frozen, shock seeping into unsteady bones as eyes wandered its contents.

_What the hell was this?_

_Is this some kind of joke?_

_Bees!_

The young ram tugged at the worn wool of a bee embroidered blanket, threads of thick knit were grayed with age and he speculated that they used to be a soft green. His arms spanned wide as he raised the blanket in the air like a flag, gaze traveling the tumbling fabric. The smile that originally appeared on his face at the sight of small bees slowly fell away.

Why would Schlatt have something so sentimental? He hasn’t uttered a word about his past since he arrived... did he have a softer personality than he let on? Had they all misjudged him?

Tubbo’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, a burdened sigh falling from behind slack lips as his arms dropped in defeat.

What was he supposed to do with it? Bury it with Schlatt? Hell, what were they even planning to do with the body?

With undeniable care, he folded and put aside the blanket, turning back to the drawer in attempts to ease any passing guilt.

Fingertips met aged photo paper and he picked it up hesitantly, tracing the blank back and debating if he should really breach the privacy of a deadman. Well, what is there to lose at this point? Schlatt has nothing anymore, if not the impressions he left on the living.

Tubbo took wariness in turning the paper, terrified the fragile material could snap in his hands, and when deep eyes finally met muted colors, he felt himself fall to his knees.

Displayed on the yellowed paper was a younger Schlatt, hair fallen in soft waves and there was a lack of defined eye bags. A smile was painted on his face as he cradled a young boy in his arms, hair plumed in the same manner as Schlatt’s and young ram ears barely managing to make it out of the mess of locks. A shaking hand rose to stroke his own ear as his eyes stayed locked onto the photo.

This can’t - _can’t_ be true... _can_ it?

Amber irises traveled down the lengths of the paper, taking in every single detail, before finally falling on the smeared ink that was tucked under his thumb. He felt his breath halt in his chest as he shifted his finger, words slowly stringing together in view.

 _Toby’s First Birthday!_ \- signed in neat calligraphy and dated in blurred black ink.

His eyes widened, mouth parting, yet no breath entering his lungs to ease the tension that now took hold of his body. Tears curled behind eyelashes and he choked, throat finally giving way to a gasp of humid air. A whine of defeat filled the empty room and he shook his head vigorously.

His face felt hot. Cheeks running pink and tears doing little to soothe the pain. Shuddering shoulders made it difficult for Tubbo to gain his barring as he stumbled to his feet, reaching an arm out to grasp at the slick cherry wood. Before he knew it, he was out of the office, running past White House doors, and barreling through forest undergrowth.

Schlatt... Schlatt was, no _is_ , his father? Did he know? No.. He couldn’t have.. he changed his name for a reason. _Why is this the way he found out?_

Tubbo’s chest felt heavy, clawing at it desperately in an attempt to free his lungs from the strain of tendons. Clarity finally overcame his vision as the trees parted and opened up to a deep valley that led to a steep drop and the ocean floor. The sound of bird song accompanied the acoustics of rumbling waves, gentle breeze pulling flower stems into braids which waved at him in greeting as he slowly closed in on the cliff edge.

Stuttering shoulders finally soothed as he took in the great expanses before him, hand clutching at the yellowed photograph. Mulled thoughts seized as Tubbo craned his head behind him, the muted sound of cracking twigs catching his attention. With a tilt of his head and squinted eyes, Tubbo spotted a shade of shifting blue passed the muted green foliage. With poorly concealed revelation, a familiar face made its way into his view. Heavy ram horns framed a familiar face, the typically proud features were now masked in a hushed toned uncertainty. Those flickering pools of whiskey eyes finally met his, grief and confusion turning to pure glee.

“Son! Toby!” Hooves came to a hesitant stop before the shorter boy. “What are you don’t here? Please tell me you didn’t... you didn’t _die_ , did you?” 

“Schlatt? You remember me?” The young ram sucked in his cheek, eyes searching to grasp onto anything but the figure before him.

The figure in question looked thrown off at the reference of his first name, rather than an equally excited declaration of “Dad!” in return.

“Of course I remember you, Toby, you’re my little bumblebee.” The wind ruffled their brunette locks, tugging the deep threads like candy floss, shifting past equally hurt eyes.

“Tubbo.. please call me Tubbo...Do you remember anything else?”

A pause and the gradual fall of a smile. Pupils dilated and shrunk as Schlatt searched internally. The few seconds that passed felt like minutes, the chill of the setting sky urged goosebumps onto their skin.

“Not particularly... my parents... I don’t remember them much... work was.. I think I was very involved with it.. And you! You lit up my days. Humble and clumsy little. We were in a forest one day... you wanted to play in the flower fields and... I don’t know. I don’t recall much after that. What happened since then?”

“Do you not recall anyone else? Dream? Wilbur? Tommy? Anyone?”

“Who? Where they important to me? All I can remember is you.”

“I... I suppose not.”

Silence encompassed them, still and heavy, a dense boulder resting upon their shoulders. A hesitant flick of the ear and a heavy sigh caught Tubbo’s attention, and he finally shifted his gaze to watch the defeated past president.

This once confident figure seemed so...fragile.

“I think.. I think I lived a sad life, To- Tubbo.”

Tubbo nodded his head, a soft bobble which shifted his hair against the wind. He could barely process the situation at hand and the previously unexplainable grief morphed into a burning numbness that coated his gingerly beating heart.

“Can you remember anything else? Anything at all?

“I... I think we signed some paperwork together? What was that about? Was I helping you apply for colleges?” Schlatt’s hand scratched at his sideburns, eyebrows quirked at the brief flashing of a memory.

“No... not quite.”

“It seems like I’ve missed out on a lot.. can you fill me in?”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

“Oh.. I’ll trust your judgment, kiddo. You look like you’ve grown up to be as amazing of a person I always thought you would become.” He offered a smile, the slight character of his snarky smirk present on his face. “What do you have there?” A clawed fingertip pointed to Tubbo's quivering fist, flexing occasionally as the seconds flew by. 

Hesitant hands passed the photo to translucent fingertips. There was a slight exchange between golden whiskey and honey eyes as focus shifted to the aged ink on the Polaroid.

“I remember this! You were always so fussy around the camera. It was a miracle that I got a decent enough picture.” Nostalgia flooded his gaze as he flicked his wrist and tilted the photography towards Tubbo to catch his attention. A deep laugh escaped his throat as an unparalleled glee painted his face.

Tears welded up behind honey coated irises.

“Why did you leave me?”

The smile fell, leaving dumbfounded eyes and a gapping mouth.

“What?”

“You- you left me when I was really young.. left me in a box by the side of the road...”

“I.. I did what? I couldn’t have... I love you so so much. Please tell me you are joking?” The picture slipped from shocked hands, fingers frozen and slowly grasping his own head, begging his devoid thoughts to produce some sort of memory from nothing.

Silence.

A ponderous sigh and strained features pulled taut on Schlatt’s face.

“Is this why I remember so little? I couldn’t have done it if it wasn’t to protect you... you were my one true source of happiness.”

The weeping young ram pulled the ghost close, leaving his throat feeling raspy behind high pitched whimpers. Shaking fingers pulled at his blue sweater, digging, pulling, begging for the man to return the comforting contact in his despair. Large hands cupped the poor boy, breath stuttering as he listened to the choked cries of his son.

The sound of cicadas thrummed tunes into the air, the gently vibration sounded akin to the strumming of cello strings and tin whistle.

—

Tubbo seemed happier, a bit more confident. Hunched shoulders were rolled back and shuffling feet turned into sure strides. He was positive that the reconstruction of L’manberg would go well and his cabinet members rallied behind him.

Out of sight was the hovering figure of Schlatt, or jokingly and endearingly called ‘Glatt’, mocking the foolish name and presence of Ghostbur.

The opposing ghost in question was similar to Schlatt, losing a majority of his memories and traumas. Despite that one key similarity, Ghostbur was actually visible to the residents of L’manberg, while Schlatt was only able to make his presence known to Tubbo. Ghostbur frolicked and played, yet sometimes hesitant eyes would flicker around the room, as if trying to spot a persistent fly. It seemed as if he could _almost_ see Schlatt. As if dimensions were a thread length away from meshing, and yet just slightly out of focus, still.

Tubbo couldn’t come up with an explanation as to why no one but him could see the former president. Was it because the only real impact Schlatt left was on Tubbo and he was the only one who was willingly and halfwitted enough to chose not to forget him, while Wilbur’s raging turmoil left a scar on everyone near and far?

He was a constant presence at Tubbo’s side, throwing underhanded comments and gesturing wildly at the people around him in ways that left the young president chuckling behind his hand.

He finally felt peace, finally felt the familial bond that he witnessed between Wilbur, Techno, Tommy, and Phil. 

There was a slight nag that always irked him, though. What would have happened if Schlatt had maintained his memories? He would surely have realized he was his son, right? If he could recognize him after death... when had he realized during his life?

The frown that started to crease his face was always set aside at the benevolent prods at his side as Schlatt gazed upon him in worry.

“You doing ok? Running a country seems tough.” He turned to prop himself on the desk, hands reaching out behind him so his palms splayed on top of the worn wood while his fingers were tucked securely under the top pane.

“Yeah.. yeah you would know.” Tubbo’s eyelashes fluttered as he was taken away from his inner musings.

“Would I now?”

“Yeah, you did an _amazing job_.” Sarcasm lie heavy on his tongue, coating it like a dense honey syrup.

“Was that.. was that _sarcasm_? Wow I’m starting to think that I’m a bad influence on you, kid.” He smirked in satisfaction at Tubbo’s huff of laughter as he went back to skimming the paperwork.

Everything was chaotic. There were still so many unanswered questions. But at least Tubbo can have _this_.


	2. Quarter Past The Death Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were times, although, when Schlatt could do nothing but regret the past life he failed to recall...Regretted how inhumane he seemed to be, and regretted the twinges of uncertainty behind Tubbo’s gaze whenever he would offer even a glimpse into their past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I be,,, changing up canon to fit my dadschlatt deprived heart. This was originally going to be a separate one shot, but i felt like it was too dependent on the previous chapter so uhhh here you go. This is a bit more Schlatt-centric and I just wanted to play around with Glatt's feelings towards everything going on (plus some additional protective dadschlatt during the disc war)

Blue sweater was foregone and replaced with a muted gray suit, crimson tie stark against the neutral colors and his transparent skin. It was a ghost, a pale glimmer, of the suit he wore when he was still alive, but it fit him well.

They created an odd home among the netherrack, not necessarily the most humble, gold blocks littering the walls, but built upon laughter tumbling from gaping mouth as Schlatt threw jabs and joking remarks at Tubbo.

His laugh was deep, a bellowing baritone that echoed in his rib cage and reverberated passed thick vocal cords. It was full and blooming, a deep breath of misty air accompanied by the pounding of a waterfall, opposing the withering husk of a chuckle that managed its way behind death rattle breaths as his heart attack settled in months prior.

As a comforting “welcome home” gift, Tubbo took great care in framing the old photograph and hanging it upon the solid framework of the house. The yellowed paper would gaze proudly at the duo as Schlatt joked of starting a family business. The idea of an inconspicuous start-up felt familiar and welcoming, and with Tubbo by his side, he was certain they could create an empire.

The home among the devil-red rocks was hidden and safe, and that is all they could ask for.

—

Days would pass and despite not remembering much of his past life, he could say with certainty that he finally had a taste of contentment.

There were times, although, when Schlatt could do nothing but regret the past life he failed to recall...Regretted how inhumane he seemed to be, and regretted the twinges of uncertainty behind Tubbo’s gaze whenever he would offer even a glimpse into their past.

In particular, the one interaction that haunted him was when the molten sun glaze of his irises traveled across the side of his son’s face, downcast and grotesque with the harsh shadow and blooming light of the afternoon. 

“I haven’t pried before, but where did you get those scars from, kid?” He curiously peered at the boy, whose voice hitched noticeably. Tubbo’s eyes shifted away, half lidded lashes fluttering as his delicate hand traced the scars that matted the left side of his face. Thin fingers worked the intricate patterns that were burned into his skin.

“It’s uhh.. “ He dropped the hand from his face and curled it into a fist, a dry cough leaving chapped lips and allowing for a lengthy silence. “It’s nothing much..”

“Nothing? Really? Did someone do that to you? I’ll have their head on a fucking pike.” Schlatt’s exasperation was thinly laced with anger, a sneer was punctuated with a hardy slap to the desk. A bitter chuckle echoed in the room and Tubbo scratched at his neck sheepishly, ram ears pulling back as his nerves settled beneath his skin.

“It was.. it was you.. but I don’t want to talk about it..” The way Schlatt’s face fell didn’t go unnoticed by Tubbo, who peered at him behind thick lashes before finding the wood grain of the desk more interesting to look at.

“I... I did that to you? Kid.. I’m sorry I have no idea why I would do that shit... does it hurt?”

“No... no. It stopped hurting once I lost a life. I-“

“You lost a life? Because of me? God , I was such an awful father and I can’t remember shit. How can you even stand to look at me?” Schlatt’s face has fallen unnaturally, barely a shadow of of his typical joyful snark. Stress was evident on his face and it seemed to mock his usual sarcastic and proud behavior. Tubbo swallowed shakily, shaking his head to try and ease his father’s fretting.

“You didn’t know.. it’s alright, really! Let’s move on..”

—

Schlatt would reminisce at times, face reflected in the buttery texture of the gold blocks, and he allowed an unusual anxiety to fill his chest, lay heavy, and weigh down his rib cage. The delicate cut of the precious metal blended with the reds of the nether, almost making it look blood soaked, and that made Schlatt feel all the more queasy.

It was beyond him why these emotions seemed to lie dormant under translucent skin until an odd array of objects seemed to pass his gaze.

Not only was he sensitive to the visuals of the gold, but an unsettled rage would flood him at the sight of L’manberg... or at least what was left of it. And despite that rage, a twinge of bitter joy. At what?? It was destroyed.. how could he feel _happy_ about that?

And the worst he has ever felt was at the sight of a discarded box, thrown to the side of an unfinished build and moist from the passing storm of the weekend. Despite how seemingly worthless it was, a wave of grief crashed into him.

He remembered the first moment he caught sight of the tattered cardboard. Hooves clacked to a sudden stop and a choked breath led the chorus of hyperventilating as he fell to his knees. He was glad, for once, that Tubbo wasn’t around him to witness such a sorry state.It felt like cotton had been shoved down his throat; putrid, despite being tasteless, and leaving him gasping for breath and water to pour down his gaping maw. He clawed at the skin of his neck, deep streaks burning into the pale flesh as he let out a short wheeze in desperation.

He didn’t expect tears to come, and yet they came flooding.

He wallowed at that stupid box for hours before he finally had enough of the phantom pains of a past life, at last garnering the courage to get up and try his best to forget, despite how desperately he wanted to remember.

And of course, despite the peace of falling into familiarity and the occasional struggles with amnesia, there was bound to be issues that lie just barely out of Schlatt’s reach.

—

The young ram’s face seemed paler than usual, rose blush dissolving into a fine porcelain that mirrored the chess pieces that scattered the desk. The evident stress on his son’s face pulled at whatever heart strings were left in his body. Schlatt craned his head, observing Tubbo before allowing a deep cough to break him from his musings.

“Everything alright in that head of yours? You overworking yourself?” Schlatt glanced down at the board between them, shifting his knight and awaiting the next move.

Tubbo’s body jerked at the comment, glancing over at the ghost who levitated across the table, picking at the defeated pieces that were thrown to the side of the board absentmindedly as he wordlessly prompted his son’s response.

“Hah yeah just... just gonna go beat Dream with Tommy today! Tommy really needs his discs back. Just a little nervous is all.” Tubbo knotted his thumbs together, before pulling them apart and pressing his palms on his desk. He allowed for a shaking smile to lighten his face before taking a gander at the chess board.

Schlatt nodded slowly, recalling the brief times Tubbo has mentioned anything regarding the discs and Dream. He felt nothing when faced with the idea of a disc, so he only shrugged it off and decided it wasn’t a story he ever had to live when he was alive.

“Well, you’ve grown a ton, kid! I mean, look at those horns! Wear ‘em with pride and get those discs back, ey?” The man’s broad palm splayed out into the direction of the boy’s head, a satisfied smile and quirked brow lining his face.

Tubbo felt a flash of giddy build up in his chest, a hand reaching up to brush the sturdy keratin atop his curly locks that mustered a slight shine in the bright daylight. A soft grin fluttered upon his face, mind tracking back to the envy he used to feel when Schlatt proudly strutted his robust horns as president.

This was the mark of the Ram; confidence was an accessory and should be worn with pride.

Certain fingertips grasped a glazed pawn, urging it forward in satisfaction.

“Check mate.”

—

Wisps of bleached clouds broke apart the saturated sky, finely painted in blushing pinks and cotton blue. The purring of cicadas accompanied the roaring waterfall, echoing into empty caverns that curled into the mountains depths. Calloused fingers burned with bruises, dull fingernails clawing at jagged rocks as two as boys heaved, laughter twinged with exhaustion and anxiety as they scaled the cliff side. 

As they reached the cusp of the peak, the expanses of the heavens started to streak in a deep crimson, bleeding into the hazy clouds and accompanying the flocks of crows that perched in place amongst dying tree branches.

Time had not worn well upon Dream’s porcelain mask; deep cracks spread upon the the ivory like an ink spill atop wax. Dim eyes watched the pair of tumbling boys, an air of intensity settling deep within their bones. 

Schlatt has lost most feeling after his death, yet he could swear that a shiver traveled its way down his spine, itching upon the back of his ghostly skeleton with a centipede’s fingertips.

He knew he shouldn’t have come. Tubbo was independent and capable of protecting himself, yet he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of unfurling apprehension.

Clawed fingernails grasped at his lapels, rubbing them in passing worry as Dream’s plot slowly unraveled before them.

—

Schlatt’s breathing was ragged, teeth snagging and catching as his lips pulled back. _What the fuck was going on? He.. he gave this guy some book on resurrection? What in the holy hell was he doing while he was alive? And he was using it to threaten two kids? Foolish kids, sure, but there was no reason to threaten them with death._

The pitter patter of Tubbo’s heart was audible, pounding behind his rib cage and grieving akin to the blood curdling sound of shattering raindrops upon grave stones.

“We will be dead before we get to the portal.. too much of a distance. It’s alright. We’ve had some laughs.. it was fun while it lasted. It’s over. All good things must come to an end. I- I didn’t expect this would be my coming to an end.” Tubbo’s voice was unnaturally even, despite the short gasps of breath he tried to silence and the pupils blown wide in unsettling adrenaline.

“ _Tubbo!_ Don’t say shit like that! Don’t accept defeat so fucking easily!” Schlatt’s voice felt hoarse, a fine sand paper gritting his words before they left his lips. A peculiar fear curdled in his chest at the idea of being unseen, as Tubbo barely flinched at his gruff yells. _In a situation like this.. so close to death’s doorstep.. has Tubbo realized how outlandish it was to still love a father like him? Has he foregone their connection?_

“What will I be without you?” Tommy lips were curled in a frown, eyes shifting back and forth in a poor attempt to process his options.

“Yourself.” The notion of such a concept made Tommy stop his nervous shuffling, eyes pausing on the shorter boy and widening at the proposition. Hesitance hung heavy in the air, pounding hearts humming songs of misery to occupy the silence. 

Tubbo’s eyes were glazed over, fine mirrors that reflected Dream’s smug face as he unclasped his mask. The proclaimed God of the sever, threw out an arm in emphasis, axe barely shifting from its position pressed upon Tubbo’s throat.

“You are nothing, Tubbo! Tommy! Make your decision! It is either him, or the discs.”

Schlatt’s nostrils flared, knuckles creaking under the pressure of his enclosed fist as he stared at the scene before him.

“Answer me! Don’t fucking ignore me! Don’t do this!” Frustration boiled under Schlatt’s skin, panicked words barely making a dent in Tubbo’s facade. Tubbo elected to ignore him, keeping his eyes down, staring into the blade that grazed his jugular and into the murky reflection that depicted Tommy, who gaped in horror.

“It’s alright, Tommy. The discs mean everything to you. I’m expendable, they aren’t. We’ve said our goodbyes at the start.” Tubbo’s face was pale, mind churning as he accepted his fate, laying down a satin sheet in his awaiting coffin and ready to lay rest in his place in the deathbed. The Grim Reaper’s foreboding chatter rang in deaf eardrums.

A threatening rumble vibrated in Schlatt’s chest and pierced through the damp air of the black stone cellar. Diluted yellow eyes started to pitch forth in a flaming red, puncturing the ghostly veil that used to conveniently shield him. Transparent suit turned opaque, his burning presence garnering the attention he craved.

“What the hell-“ Dream’s questioning was caught in his throat, cocky grin and quirked eyebrows tumbling along with the mask that was clutched in deft fingertips.

Tubbo’s twitching frown continued to pinch his features, flustered cheeks fluttering and teary eyes wincing in an attempt to hold back the breaching of tears as slit pupils glanced over at his father.

Dream took a stuttering stride forward, knees trembling as he fell before the ghost.

“Schlatt!” A deranged laugh escaped his wide maw, teeth glimmering in the dim light and the scarring on his face warping at the mania.

“You’re here! Please punish them with me! I know you had to die.. that was foolish of me. But look at how much progress we made! I have their silly fantasies in the palm of my hand! Your book on resurrection was all I needed!” His voice became shrill, begging before the ram as if he was kissing the feet of God. His words tumbled, probing and imploring the man before him as if he were asking for just a drop of his immortal ambrosia. His mania was met with a feral glint within slit pupils.

Dark eyelashes fluttered atop of hate drenched irises, analyzing the figure below him. A hitch of a breath caught his attention, a gasp of shock rang in his ears as he tilted his head to the side.

“Schlatt?!” Tommy looked horrified, not hiding the way he searched the ghost of his enemy. Pinched breath huffed passed flared nostrils and a sneer teased the ram’s facial hair.

“Shut it, Tommy. Don’t ever fucking hesitate between wagering my kid’s life and your stupid discs ever again.” Schlatt’s voice was rough, soaked in a poison that drenched the air, long finger prodding the air in the boy’s direction. Tommy shuddered, if he took one wrong move, it felt as if the entire room would ignite under the past president’s gaze. The ram wrinkled his nose, looking as if the most putrid thing has presented itself on a plate to him, half dead and rotting to the core. That look of complete disgust shattered as his attention flickered back to the small shuddering body of his son. All the confidence that the boy finally manifested had drained from him within minutes. Coos left his father’s throat as he embraced the young ram, murmuring praises as the chilling feeling of tears soaked through his grey suit.

The sound of crackles caught their attention and Schlatt reluctantly stepped away from thin arms. Their attention turned to the nether portal, the mulberry and violet luminosity shifted grotesque shapes upon their skin. The gateway to hell purred as figures started to emerge, deep shadows slowly giving way to distinct faces.

“I’m sorry Dream, but you should have payed me more.” The man’s name was escaping Schlatt’s memory, but he didn’t miss when the gazes of the group shifted from the server’s creator to himself. Looks of shock and distaste riddled their features, questioning glances running between the scene before them.

Tubbo’s vision cleared, eyes switching between the mob and his father, worry constricting his throat before he watched Schlatt’s form go translucent, dissolving into the fine night air.

Panic flared in his chest, an ugly burn that coated his throat. He swallowed audibly, thickened saliva coating his tongue like a molasses, too sweet and heavy to be considered edible by any means.

“Schlatt?! Wait! Dad!” He begged out into the air, which was now unsettling and empty.

He bit his tongue and his eyebrows knit themselves together, forming a fine blanket of confusion on his face, before the shuffling of the mob caught his attention once more. He shrunk into himself, turning away from the gawks of surprise as they wrangled Dream into chains.

“Tubbo? What was that about? Schlatt is your... dad?” Tommy’s palm cupped at his hunched shoulders, pulling his attention to the taller blonde. 

A soft nod and a lift of his shoulder urged Tommy’s hand away.

“How is he a ghost?How did we not know he was here?” Tommy’s words seemed unnaturally carefully plucked, pauses punctuating each word.

“It’s... it’s a long story... and I don’t even really know..” His voice was lowly pitched, turning his back to the deranged scene and shouts of Dream.

—

Schlatt’s head was craned downwards, mused hair falling in disorienting waves that masked his forehead. His hunched shoulders steadily rose and fell with deep sighs and his fingers clutched desperately to each other between parted legs where he sat. He cracked his knuckles and allowed his head to fall backwards, pushing back his hair to look over at his son who now stood in the doorway.

“Why do they.. why do they hate me so much?” His voice was hushed, confusion more so present than sadness at the situation at hand.

“I don’t... they are all a bit selfish, I think. Sure, you weren’t the best leader but... but they were obsessed with a distant fantasy. The further away I grow from everyone, the more I start to realize how skewed their priorities are.” Tubbo licked dry lips, head still swimming from the events of the day. Feeling a bit faint, he sat at a chair across from his father.

An empty laugh echoed within the chambers of the dim nether house, followed by the soft brushing of fabric as Schlatt brushed his hands out upon his slacks and stood up.

“Why did you disappear like that? I couldn’t see you. I thought you were leaving me again.” Tubbo’s eyes refused to follow the towering ram, instead trained on the dense patterns of the netherrack flooring.

A grin quirked Schlatt's features, but that snarkiness didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Ey, not my place to be. Y’know? This is your story, and everyone else’s, I’m just here for the quirky commentary.” He frilled out his hands in makeshift ‘jazz’ fashion.

“I think... I think i should tell you more about your past.” Tubbo finally looked up, half lidded eyes taking in the muted surprise etching within his father’s features.

And with a soft nod and a reseating, the young ram’s hushed words echoed upon the temperate rocks, spinning the tale of L’manberg and the election, his execution and the final downfall of the first and last president of Manberg. Hand gestures became more bold with the climaxes of the plot, emotions running rampant behind Tubbo’s eyes, nostalgia ringing clear in his blood.Words fell softly off their highs as his recounting came to a close, hands coming to clasp in front of himself as he watches Schlatt finish processing his apparent past.

Rough hands dragged down a tired face, catching at his facial hair and rubbing irritably at the corner of his eyes.

“I know there is more to the story.. more before I arrived here.. there has to be.. yet.. I don’t know if I’ll ever remember it. Thank you for finally telling me, Tubbo.”

Tubbo twirled his thumbs together, dull nails scraping at skin, as his head tilted to gaze at the expanses of the fiery hell Schlatt called home.

“We... we didn’t meet in the best circumstances. Yet... I think when you were alive.. you tried to comfort me? Be there for me? You were so powerful and so new, my initial reaction to you was awe... and to everyone else, it was fear. I was constantly kicking myself over prioritizing Tommy and Wilbur, but I just didn’t know what else I could do.”

Schlatt let out an over exaggerated sigh and stretched dramatically, bones creaking in disappointment at finally moving once more. The quick change in mood was followed by a hollering laugh and accompanied by a chorus of Tubbo’s giggles.

The maturity was becoming of him. Who wouldn’t be proud of a son like this?

“Life’s fucked, kid. If I could fist fight Mother Nature herself, I would. I know you would be in my corner to help me out, and that’s all I could ask for.”

Things were tough under their circumstances, and they were certain that a thicket of struggles will always lie hidden under them, but what else can you do for family other than fight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I have absolutely zero idea where i was going with this but I just wanted to write a bit more for this AU. It is really late rn so I hope I didnt make too many mistakes.   
> Please let me know how you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> Mmmmm dadschlatt au. I might write more for this au at some point when I'm not drowning in schoolwork.  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
